


Soldiering On

by Spiffing



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depression, Gen, POV Second Person, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiffing/pseuds/Spiffing
Summary: When those close to you are taken too soon, vulnerability takes hold.Set prior the 2015 elections.
Relationships: David Cameron/Samantha Cameron
Kudos: 4





	Soldiering On

**Author's Note:**

> I had posted this quite a while back in a forum. Thought to finally put this here too.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is purely fiction. I do not know these people in real life. If I have offended anyone, I sincerely apologise for that is not my intention.

People say that upon hearing something of personal significance has taken a turn for the worst, you would always remember exactly, and vividly, where you were at the time, and the people you were with. They called it a flash bulb memory.

And how right they were.

You were attending a meeting with the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and the Chief Secretary to the Treasury. Upon the informant intruding, relaying the events in a monotone voice, you had instantly forgotten what exactly was being discussed between the four of you.

Sitting, unmoving and frozen, your hardened gaze set upon the wall across the room, blue and unblinking. While on the surface you had seemed almost calm, the incomprehensible and chaotic state building in your mind spoke of a different story. So did your own chest, which deflated and swelled with doubt, anger, and above all, fear. One question spoke clear in your mind. Just one. A question of _why_.

There was someone standing close to you, so close that you should be able to feel their warmth. But it was much too far, and you feel much too cold. A distant voice from somewhere, from the person who had informed you, asked if were alright. Your voice seemed to had been robbed from you and had taken you three clearings before you had rasped a request. It was denied, and, instead was replaced with tea. Tea helped in the past, but you had thought at the time that tea would never be enough to make you feel any better.

In no less than an hour, headlines flashed across the television screens of Great Britain and the world; the news of your world tumbling from somewhere afar, yet striking right into your heart, for all the world to see. The images of wrecked metal, stained and smeared with unmistakable blood, were thrown mercilessly at you. Lies. The media is known for lying. They were lying. But the logic that had been thrust back, lurking in the back of your mind knew they weren’t this time. Knowing that, only made you deny what had happened evermore stronger.

Suddenly there was the noise of a wooden object, flung across the room.

“Turn that thing off!” the Chancellor had snapped.

The sharpness of that order had sliced through the spiralling and descending thoughts; clearing the fog within your mind. You'd blinked as the screen turned black, and realised with the explosion of pain spreading menacingly from your foot, that it was you who had kicked the chair. You found yourself cursing to the heavens with all your mite; swearing in bitter anger and frustration. It'd left you panting, and it was then that you noticed that you were standing, angry and confused only seconds ago, but now left feeling tired and exhausted. You found yourself in the Chancellor’s office, a cup of steaming hot tea on the table top infront of you. Half of its contents was sloshed out; a twisted symbol of the condition of your life in that moment of time.

“David.”

You slowly looked up to see Nick, your Deputy, stood beside you and George, your Chancellor, beside him. Your eyes felt tired, heavy, and wet. Your whole being felt hopeless and lost. The truth was on their faces, and quickly, you looked away. Oh the _truth_. It hurt more coming from them because you know them, you trust them, you spend your days working in close proximity with them; and they are also the last remaining people whom you see the most of. How saddening was that?

You'd felt yourself tremble. You had tried to stop it but the feeling was mounting. You couldn’t even hold the stiff upper lip that you had been taught to hold. Your teeth held on desperately, biting at the bottom of your lip. Already, you felt the hold and your resolve slipping. And you had thought again that it couldn’t be true.

But it was. First your father. Then your son. And now the rest of your family. They were your personal support, your life, your niche. And now they’re suddenly gone. And you'd felt alone, so enraged, and so very sad. You had no idea what to do.

You glanced at your most trusted and loyal colleagues.

Quiet, hesitant, desperate, you softly whispered blindly, “Hold me.”

And then... warmth surrounded you. It was closer than before. Stronger. A type of _protection_. You hid your face in the crook of his shoulder. It would be enough. It _should_. But it wasn’t. You still tried to hold back but stifling a sob and the constriction of your chest had been proving too much for your mentality that moment. And at that, you had finally let go.

You remember feeling like a right mess by the end of it. The mess on the shirt infront of you was proof it was. You had felt better for crying, for letting it out, for letting it go. But that only lasted a moment before you remember why you cried and instantly you felt empty again and the feeling was unsettlingly.

Friends, colleagues, and extended family showed their condolences through words in all forms. Sam’s family were devastated and decided upon themselves that they would take charge of the funerals, as though you were incapable because you were too close, because you are the Prime Minister, and therefore you shouldn’t be allowed near organising such things.

Some point later, a point which was quite short notice, you were instructed to take leave immediately. They said it was to allow you time to grieve. You knew the real reason was so that you wouldn’t screw up the government. The idea was nice enough to the ear at the time and you couldn’t excuse yourself from such an order. So you do as you were told in an unusual show of defeat. But that had only made things worse.

Now, being away from work, from the only thing left in your life that made you feel adequate, only magnified the large hollow space in your life from here on out. There is no sense of normality. There is nothing that could keep your mind off what has happened. And due to that, all you could think about was Sam and the children.

You feel yourself dying inside, waking up to an empty house and going to sleep alone. You never thought you’d be alone. But here you are now; home no longer felt like home. There is no happiness. Only stillness and silence. Uncomfortable, indifferent, and stony. You desperately try to escape reality, remembering back to the happy days. The smiles and the laughter. The places you went together and the things you shared... You miss Sam’s imagination, her sarcasm, and those inspirational, passionate rants. Nancy's inquisitive nature and liberal talks. Arthur’s enthusiasm in all things involving dinosaurs and cars. Florence’s giggles and her determination to walk... Those moments, so very precious, will be the only memories you’ll ever have of them and you curse at yourself for breaking the promise of spending more time with them. A desperate promise you had made after Ivan, your first son, had passed away.

They are, or rather... _were..._ your world. They were your _everything_.

And now they’re gone and you know it can’t be undone no matter what you might attempt to bargain with in exchange for them to live. Because you had tried to twice before.

And you wonder again, who knows how many times, _‘Why them? Why not take me instead?’_

Their deaths solidified as you watched their beds lowered down the ground below, their stones heads standing straight and rigid with their names carved upon their smooth surfaces. You see the others who were attending the private service, weeping openly and loud. You imagine a few frowning at the lack of coming from you and a feeling of guilt and shame bloomed for having accepted their deaths so soon. You remember how choked up you had been when your father and then your son had died. It took longer than it had now for you to accept the fact and also move on. It didn’t make sense to feel as you feel now but perhaps it did given the past.

Even though you have accepted that they are dead, it was still difficult to live each day knowing that you’re still here and they are not. But you know what Sam would say, she would have wanted you to live on, to be happy- if not for yourself then for them. And even though some part of you felt uncomfortable with being the last of your line alive, you slowly learnt to live without Sam and the children in your life. You still have friends, and extended family. You still have a job to do and responsibilities keep. Even though you now live alone, you still have people supporting you and you know you will be there to support them back. The feeling itself is heart warming; knowing that it wasn’t the end of the world, that you weren’t completely alone.

So you resume your term in parliament, now ready and afresh with energy to fight, with Nick and George by your sides. You expect that there will be hitches to happen along the way, but you are throwing yourself back in it, stronger than ever before. Confident and determined, you want to make Great Britain a better place in the interest of the British people because that’s what a Prime Minister does. And that is what you will do.


End file.
